


Insight

by impasto



Category: King Lear - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Two Lines Challenge, one of my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-17
Updated: 2004-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impasto/pseuds/impasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Be Kent unmannerly when Lear is mad; thy youngest daughter does not love you least. See better, and let me still remain the true blank of thine eye." ~ Kent (Act I, Scene i)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 Two Lines Challenge.

_Here by my side, an angel  
Here by my side, the devil_  
~ Matthew Good, "Weapon"   
  
  


 

The king is mad.

There are many things that are beyond Kent's knowledge, outside of his state, but this he knows. Wherefore this cruelty? Kind Lear, gentle Cordelia. Wherefore this pride? Will she not fashion herself to his liking?

Not an hour ago, in this very hall, she sat with her father, with soft voice and soft touch in private conference; Kent waited beyond the doors, loathe to interrupt, though the king caught his eye and beckoned, and both smiled to see Kent. The king's face was rosy with pleasure, not anger, and Cordelia's voice was the sweetest music then.  
  
  
.:.  
  
  
This now, this is beyond the bounds of courtesy, of kin. Banishment? Has the king no thought for any moment other than this? He is raging, blind to the thousand expressions of love ere this single one withheld. Can one turn all those into nothing?

"Good my liege - "

Peace, he says, and yes, Kent is trying for peace. Cease this obstinate silence, child; recover your words. Her fortune, Lear's fortune, they are both assured if she only speaks. The maps are drawn up. Do you not see? Lear's temper will fade, and all will be well. If only...  
  
  
.:.  
  
  
Cordelia, a child, so often the first to greet her father and his company upon their return from outlying lands, bearing rosy kisses and joyful words. Even in these years, more woman than child, but never in the eyes of Lear. No; she is always Cordelia, his little bird - a promise, a sanctuary, with no queen to comfort him, nearly twenty years alone.

Cordelia, too young to remember, her world bound by her father's arms. The others had years enough to recall a mother's touch, and yet not enough to understand the blamelessness of death. Someone must be at fault.  
  
  
.:.  
  
  
Lear calls himself a dragon, a beast of fancy, imagination. Dragons do not exist; even in stories they are hunted out, destroyed. None will give refuge.

Cordelia must stay, Lear must yield. Give up this foul pride, not befitting a daughter, and this rash anger, foreign to a kingly nature. Does Lear not know his daughters' truths, can he not see? In his grasp, security and peace, comfort in his old age. The dignity of a king. Is this no more?

Duty. Allegiance. Love. Stronger than obedience, blind and unquestioning. Kent must speak, if Cordelia will not.

_See better, Lear._


End file.
